


Dark Light

by Nite_Owl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Children of Characters, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nite_Owl/pseuds/Nite_Owl
Summary: Post-TLJ: Make Rey darker? Rey channeling her inner Melisandre? Kylo Ren channeling his inner Heathcliff and Edward Rochester? Dark and Light Side working together to establish new order and a lasting balance? Checked, checked and... checked. Reviews, spelling and grammar check highly welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hosnianprime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosnianprime/gifts), [diasterisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/gifts).



**Prologue**

He was like an open wound to this world – and the ravenous vultures gathered to devour him.

He pretends to be asleep – fully dressed and with his saber by his side - but all rest is gone a long time ago. He knows: if he shows enough weakness, they’ll come for him sooner. This will all come to an end. But then, the Force hums and tenses – he’s completely awake in an instant, sitting upright on his bed. If he didn’t know better, he’d say her ghost came back to torment him – Mortis Gods know his lineage was full of unruly spirits, stubbornly refusing to rest in peace. But she’s there and she’s still alive – he could overlook his own demise, but not hers.

And it’s the Force bond, the same one she’s been successfully evading all these months.

It was a strange sort of dance – the Force, possessing the will of its own, connecting them in the most vulnerable and dark moments.

“You should have slain me while you still had the chance,” he says to her the first time, exactly three days after his mother’s passing. He could feel the disturbance in the Force. He could feel it as acutely as if someone punched him right in solar plexus with an iron fist. It was heart-break: too many losses. She couldn’t stand it so she quietly slipped from this reality to another, becoming one with the Force: feeling both relief and a pang of regret that she left her precious Resistance at the mercy of yet another monster she created – him.

He praises himself for sounding so cold – freezing cold – remembering the same tone of voice frightened Luke in the early days when the Dark Side beckoned him.

“It was a foolish, sentimental decision that will cost you and your derelict Resistance dearly. You think her loss has hit you hard? Consider it again, _scavenger._ ”

There is no compassion in those eyes – but there is Light still. He feels he will go ragingly mad at the absence of former and presence of latter. And to his shock and amazement, she doesn’t break the bond immediately. She only observes him quietly for a while. Her dark eyes even darker. Washed out with tears – he knows that stare all too well. And then something else emerges in those eyes – pity. If she pierced through his heart with her saber, it would be a lesser shock and a lesser pain. Plasma beams cauterize the wound – her glare opens an unseen lesion that bleeds profusely and threatens to fester.

“Captain Peavey,” he roars to the com-link even before the bond is broken, eyeing the scavenger Jedi and her blurred surroundings as she concentrates in the Force, brow furrowed, obvious effort needed on her part to do so. “I want the coordinates of the deserted rebel bases on Sullust NOW!”

But before he utters the last words, she’s gone.

 _You should’ve killed me_ , he thinks. _I should be dead._

A sigh escapes him and it is like a roaring thunder in the quiet of his room. _You should’ve slain me._

The next time, he’s already made aware Hux saw the elevator and the throne room surveillance footage. It is no surprise to the Knights of Ren: Irin shows him the holographic video aloofly, with only some vague commentary how decadent and weak Snoke became and how the Jedi fights like a barbarian.

 _How terrible she is_ , he thinks and he doesn’t refer to her woeful lack of technique.

“You should have joined me,” he growls and those sad, bright eyes of hers don’t even blink.

There is even more Light in them this time – it is truly maddening – and the Force bond is broken even faster than the last time.

“I would have given you everything: the First Order, your master’s saber, the safe passage of the transports - only if you took your rightful place at my side,” he uttered the third time.

There is something almost sadistic about the stubbornness with which the Force keeps binding them together.

Her power is rising – he could sense that as well. One day soon, she’ll become completely impervious to the will of the Force.

And then, he’ll finally find some rest, probably in his death. So when she appeared that time, to say he was at loss with words would be a vast understatement.

„Ben,” she whispered that accursed name hastily. She had no time to lose. „They are plotting your assassination.“

He almost laughs savagely at the fact that these two extreme opposites had the same overview of his fate. He didn’t trust his own Knights – how can anyone trust the apprentices of the Acolytes and of dead Sith, the Jedi murderers and traitors? Only a madman such as himself did it, and then lost any track of them as they were sent by Snoke to the Unknown Regions to uphold the rule of the First Order until the time is right for them to be summoned back. There, they saw something he couldn’t. They brought knowledge that was out of his reach. And in the oddest turns of fate, they reached a unanimous consensus with the last remaining Jedi in the galaxy.

„I know,“ he replied with the voice lowered to a whisper. She thought him to be completely alone – and essentially, he was. He only had those six men and some senior First Order officers such as Yago and Peavey whose loyalty for him stemmed only from their passionate disdain for Hux and the fact they barely escaped the immolated “Supremacy”. He knew about Hux’s entire plot already – the attempt to drug him, the blaster guns, and the whole damn barrage if he somehow remained alive afterwards. The presence of the Knights of Ren was ambiguous enough, but it nevertheless made Hux go into a full panic mode. He had to make haste.

„Stay,“ he gestured at her as she stepped back. She felt visibly uneasy and soon he realized why – she was fresh out of a battle: a flesh wound on her ribs, soaking her white tabard with blood. The fact she came to warn him of the danger that loomed over his life despite the threat to her own made his heart stop.

„You're wounded,“ he uttered and on a pure reflex, reached with his hand to that place. She recoiled so quickly and so violently, that he instantly regretted his movement.

“Who did it?” He’ll mutilate that animal. „It's nothing,“ she whispered from the shadows. She probably wasn't even aware herself of the injury she sustained. It was a sideways blaster shot, one she failed to deflect with the Force on time – a split second of lost focus was more than enough in a violent barrage she was caught in. And of course, she wouldn’t tell him who the perpetrator was, not in a million years: a tough little Jedi scavenger – impossible hybrid of two completely different worlds.

He swallowed hard.

„Come to me,“ he said in a raw admission of his need, rising slowly on his hands to inspect her better, but keeping the distance this time. „Fight with me. Help me bring Hux down. Help me restore the order to this galaxy.“

He didn't need the help, actually. His Dark Side group had all of it planned out and planned well in advance – but she didn't know it.

„No,“ she shook her head. „I have no guarantees it is me who won't be killed instead.“

„Never,“ he whispered passionately.

„This is your battle and yours alone, Ben: not mine,“ she said matter-of-factly, physically incapable of sulking over anything, his blind murderous rage included.  “Your… General Organa beseeched me to guard those unguarded, to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I have my path. And you… you have chosen yours.”

He scrutinizes her now, absorbing that strange amalgam of softness and judgment coming from her. He finds himself seething with rage – an emotion of a living being, and not of a living corpse he was reduced to over the past months. _Leia Organa_ – burdening those already over-burdened to keep that criminal scum alive. But surprisingly, he finds he has no strength left to resent the late princess.

_Mother._

Dull ache comes instead of indignant discontent and fury. He nearly sighs – a perfunctory reaction of his vegetative system struggling against the rising pain. But he chokes the sound and stops his lungs from expanding and his throat from closing.

“Then why have you come here?” He asks abruptly, voice almost hardening to that old derisive tone. Almost.

“It is the Force, Ben,” she says with soul crashing sincerity. “I merely follow its will. It is true: I learned how to break the bond, but as to why it keeps connecting us and when, I am in the dark as much as you are.”

He finds it hard to believe that she, that roaring light presence in the Force, can be darkened by anything – still, something in her confession and in her demeanor draws him in again. No compassion in those eyes still: disappointment – yes; anguish – yes; regret – yes… _it is almost intolerable_ , he thinks, but then he picks on something truly remarkable: hope. Snoke recognized it in the throne room – and he sees it now, as bright as the daylight. She was that untainted hope not only for the galaxy and the rebels, but for his mother as well, lying on her death-bed, two women exchanging truth in silent contemplation: the one that gave him life and the other that will be either his salvation or his ruin. And then it dawned on him - what a fool he was, letting the old despised ways and the old arrogance stand in the way of what he truly was, of what he truly needed to become. He didn’t care about the means as long as his goal was achieved.

„I regretted the order I gave the moment I gave it.“ He says the truth: the one he found unutterable now flowing from his lips freely and with it, a sort of relief he never knew was possible. „The only thing that kept me sane and alive is the knowledge you are still there and perhaps still waiting. Rey -”

He swallowed hard again and leaned in even further. The tone of his voice surprised him, and the shift in her expression the moment her eyes met his told him she noticed the difference too.

“I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul. Come to me – not as a subordinate, not as a ruler, but as my equal, as my likeness.“

There is now an indescribable expression on her face: shock, disbelief, joy, sadness; and above all, that old compassion, an explosion of it. She reclines against an invisible wall behind her, probably somewhere in the underground shelters of the Resistance, at least judging after the artificial light and dust around her. He’d give anything to be there with no other purpose than to reach with his bare hand to her this time, to undo what has been done and to leave with her into the future that those accursed, beloved visions have promised.

“Sweetheart, _please_.”

Her eyes grow wider for a moment, but then close tight. That bright light is all but gone from her face in an instant and something else, something deeper and unsettling takes its place. He hurt her – again. Why couldn't he say the same thing to her while they were in the Throne Room? Why didn't he have the same sort of passionate resolve before the Resistance was decimated? Before his mother has died? Leia’s death hurt her far beyond anything she has ever experienced – and she was no stranger to loss. If anything, it was perpetual loss she ever knew – her own parents lying dead in the desert graves, meager portions, abundance of death and disease, young Resistance fighters dying like flowers she tried to nurture back on Jakku, the fact she had him for a moment there in the Throne Room, and then lost him again, Luke dying after confronting him on Crait… She never lost hope, remembering Leia’s words which she passed on from her mother, Breha Organa, but she never had the chance to share the truth of what has transpired between her and her son. And what was it, anyway? What could she possibly tell anyone even if there was someone who could lend a sympathetic ear?

She reached for her wound instinctively and pressed it to stop the bleeding, that gesture strangely resembling an embrace. Then suddenly she hits it with her other fist and the motion is so violent and such a disturbance in the Force that the same blood materializes in his room and sprinkles his sheets. She channeled the Dark Side. Kylo Ren doesn't know whether to weep, or rejoice, or gloat, or kiss her violently until he makes her stop.

„No,“ she says, her eyes spitting dark fire like that time in the forest; her voice a deep, venomous growl. “You have aligned yourself with the old ways of terror – the ways that have to die. I’ll raise the rebellion anew. Know this: I will do it on my own. And I will destroy you and the Order of Knights of Ren one by one, and the First Order, and all of it.”

And at that, she disappears.

He's breathless for a moment; doesn't know what to make of all of this. He roared at the sight of her injured. But then again, she was extraordinary resilient, even for Jedi standards. And a small voice within him murmurs: _It's all unfolding as predicted._ That small voice calms him down and brings back the old dark enthusiasm. It’s not Snoke – the venomous snake is dead and it is he who crushed its head (and Knights of Ren knew all of it and didn’t object – on the contrary). She'll return. And no one will be killed. She is indestructible and so is he.

He lowers himself over the barely noticeable dots of blood on his sheets and absorbs their scent. He smiles. Not all dead Sith in the galaxy gave him this much strength. She loves him. His little Kira-Rey (he admires at her newly found, true name so strangely mirroring his own) developed strong attachment to him. Thought of losing him is agonizing. She loses sleep and loses focus over this – ergo the wound. At night, desperate to sleep among other exhausted fighters, she tosses and turns then barely dozes off in the morning only to wake up again with his name like a silent supplication on her lips. Kylo Ren frowns. He has to hurry. Hux has to hurry. They have a deadly choreography in three acts for him to play: first, make him believe he'll succeed. Let him gloat over the surveillance videos his electronic spies made in the elevator and in the Throne Room. Let him lose time editing the material for Holonet, that deranged, self-absorbed, self-promoting idiot. In the second act, slice his throat. Third act – destroy their blasters and their guns and their cannons with a couple of strategically placed Force lightnings. In the interlude – kill the strongest opposition and make everyone else tremble as they realize their technological wonders are nothing compared to the power of the Force. Promote the likes of Peavey and Yago and Canady: old school imperial officers, tough and grounded, men who know well how to reinstate peace and order.

And as a finale, bring her back.

**Chapter I.**

**Ex Luce, Tenebrae**

Her transformation transcended even his wildest expectations.

His powers erupted alongside hers to the point it sometimes frightened even him.

With the help of ancient Sith texts retrieved from academy on Korriban and the Jedi texts she brought in from Ahch-to, their knowledge became practically infinite. Her prophetical visions, once blurred and uncertain, now became so accurate and precise that it made even the Knights of Ren, freshly returned from the Unknown Regions, tremble. Even though she retained a sort of natural disdain for the First Order and never engaged in any of their combats, her divinations helped them make so many strategically important decisions that even the Chiss welcomed her as an Empress and listened to her advice with solemn attention.

She turned because she wanted to stop the bloodshed – it couldn't be done without reinforcing the order with the iron fist, and for that, she needed an army, an Empire and the rationality of the Dark Side, of the _dwartii_. And on a deeply intimate level, she needed him.

The day she came in a stolen, heavily battered TIE silencer to offer him her allegiance, her powers and herself, Emperor thought he was experiencing some strange aftermath of meditation and the narcotics he took to enhance the influence of the Dark Side. The Resistance knew everything of her plans – at that point, she was so idealistic as to believe she could convince Poe Dameron to work a truce with the First Order - and the gaping hole at the side of the craft that threatened to destroy her testified to their reception of her reasoning. He shuddered with mad rage at the notion that his precious Empress, his ray of dark light, could've been destroyed by that rebel scum.

„They don't understand,“ she said, her voice deep and broken. „They will never understand. They will plunge the whole galaxy deeper into war and chaos only because of some misguided cause.“ It was the child slavery and Dameron's rationalization of the deepening tragedy of the conflict that made her turn. It came gradually, somewhere between endless run for their lives, guerilla war and gambling tables where she used her Jedi skills to turn the outcome to their benefit. He pleaded with her for so long.

„You'll allow them to turn you into this circus freak act,“ he had to be merciless to make her wake up to the truth. „These people don't have your soul, Rey. They're not fighting for some greater good; they're fighting because it is in their blood, because their pride compels them to wage war. Galaxy makes sense to them only in the cockpit. Even if you win – which you won't, and you know it, Rey – who can help you build that peaceful and prosperous society your General has a mouthful of? He is ignorant – he learnt nothing from Leia Organa. Even her former political apprentices collaborate with the First Order either openly or temporarily, as paid advisors. The rest are dead. This world needs your wisdom. It needs your compassion. It needs your resolve.“

If he was to be completely honest to himself, it was he who needed her wisdom the most, to soothe his fury; and her Jedi compassion to heal his soul; and her resolve not to leave him to the fate he choose. She remained mum to his projection at first, but he could clearly sense she understood the reality behind his words. In a way, she trusted him for so long. He didn't lie. He didn't hide the truth. He never tried to sugar coat the reality so he might please her. On the contrary, his asperity hurt her far more often than she'd be prepared to acknowledge. He knew the truth of her parents, that same truth she was completely aware of but denied her whole life. And it only expanded from there. He knew her real name wasn’t Rey, but Kira – he resumed calling her Rey only out of habit and because she felt secure with that name. His usual cycles of deflection and derision were more and more often replaced with sensitivity and tenderness. Rey (or Kira, she didn’t know which) tolerated his nature. As a scavenger, you know better than anyone else to appreciate a hard and solid piece of rusted metal, sharp on the edges, and its ability to transform into a hyper-drive module under skillful pair of hands. His understanding of her was terrifyingly accurate, as hers was of him – and why wouldn't it be? They were the last remaining powerful Force users in the galaxy. Lonely, both of them – condemned to a lifetime of struggle none of them actually wanted.

She broke the bond that time, but next time – and the time after that – it was she who searched him instead. She was growing weary and she was crying more and more often. To see her broken like this broke his heart in turn, but he couldn't dare to show it.

„Rey,“ he said, swallowing hard. He made an inhuman effort not to sound pleading this time, although every fiber of his being screamed at her to come back. „Leave the Resistance. You can't persuade them. They will never see this the way you do. They are nothing. They are foolish and weak. And you... you're not.“

But there was something else. Something she didn't tell him yet. „We attacked the First Order post to stop children from being sold to their ranks,“ she whispered. „A child was killed in the altercations.“ She stopped. Her voice broke and her chin sank to her chest. Shoulders trembling. She was weeping. „It could've been easily one of our own blaster-shots that killed her.“ He has never seen her in such a deep state of despair – and he should know, being the culprit and the witness of her heartbreak in the Throne Room. Snoke couldn’t break that indomitable Jedi spirit of hers: it was he who almost did it, and he loathed himself intensely for it. And now, sitting before him, she was reliving the moment she was herself sold as a child-slave. Nothing in the universe could sway her like this, he realized – with him as the sole exception.

„And I saw the face of a First Order officer I killed,“ she said eventually. It was a bitter confession. Every single word felt like it was being torn away with her own flesh. „It was a young woman of no more than 20 years of age. I felt so dismayed, and I didn't know why. I ploughed through them without even blinking an eye before, and now... I tried woman's memories, and then it dawned on me. How stupid I was. How reckless. How... cruel.“

„She was born on Jakku around the same time I was,“ she added, brushing off her tears. „Nothing sets us apart. We are the same. It was either the slavery to the First Order or slavery to Unkar and the likes of him. It was maddening. I almost went insane. I ran for so long... until I was certain no one can find me. Not even Finn or Poe.“

How he wanted to step into the Force bond, wipe away her tears, let her know he's there and present.

„Rey,“ he said and his own voice startled him. „Wait for me there. Tell me your coordinates. I will come for you... sweetheart.“

Her beautiful sad eyes fixed on him: dumbfounded by his offer, dumbfounded by his sincerity and by that word. Where did he get it from, anyway? Ah, he remembered – and shuddered – it was Han. Of course, where else could he pick up that sloppy, saccharine expression?

„No,“ she replied slowly, examining him with her gaze. She still doesn’t trust him. She still needs to protect her pathetic Resistance. „I know where _Nephallactis_ is.“ Of course she does, cunning little Jedi spy, knowing exactly where his flag ship is. „I'll come. This war was never about anything else but us – the Dark Side, and the Light. We have started it – we shall end it,“ she added, realization solidifying amidst the madness of war.

„If I don't make it...“ She paused and he tensed at the danger that loomed over her: the danger now coming from within her own ranks.

„I will make sure you come safely,“ he said way too ardently for his own comfort. „The scum won't dare lay a finger on you.“

She shook her head, apparently frustrated by his endless interruptions. „You don't know where I am and it will remain that way,“ she said and rose to her feet. She only conveys the type of the craft she stole and its serial number, and that’s it. Her clothes bloodied and crumpled, the stench of death surrounding her making her even more terrifying and more beautiful in his eyes. She pondered for a moment and then leaned in (he only then realized how close within the bond they were). She kissed him on the lips before he had the time to shrink away. She was warm and soft and he felt her teeth and the tip of her slick tongue too. Her presence energizes every single atom of his being: it’s like he touched the bare wire of a TIE fighter engine. A jolt, but not an unpleasant one – the sort of sensation he wants to prolong, and repeat, and dwell into it deeper until he goes all the way into its very subatomic structure, until all its mysteries unfold for him. “I never kissed anyone before,” she whispered almost apologetically. And then she was gone. The hours that passed felt like agonizing eternity. He gave direct orders to all the bases not to shoot at TIE silencer registered under the serial number 0046679, and stolen some time ago from Lothal. She was alive, but not out of danger. He felt the exact moment she was hit and roared at the possibility she'll just die in an explosion during the hyper-jump. But she didn't. She was indestructible. And she was his.


	2. The Jedi has returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo iron out the details of the future galactic peace, including the marriage of the Dark and the Light.

She lands on one of the peripheral docks of _Nephallactis_.

No need to expose her to the First Order right now. They don't know who's inside. Only thing they need to do is to follow the orders.

She saw him through the bond and so did he as well, but the crudeness of reality somehow surpasses their flickering moments together. She looks thinner and frailer than he remembers. Her Resistance didn't take good care of her – the scum can't even take good care of itself. Only thing they're good at is getting themselves killed.

She is confused with the whole thing, and it's only natural. Last time she saw him in flesh, it was the Throne Room.

He grew a beard – not a thing of vanity, but a reflection of his mournful state. He mourned the death of his mother and the loss of the last remaining light that kept him alive. Oh, yes, he was that kind of sappy. That facial growth confounds her, too. Although she felt it through the bond. Strange things.

This time, he'll do it right. He is almost one year older and billion light years wiser than he was last time. He obliterated the opposition within the First Order. He destroyed Hux and claimed the rule over the greater part of galaxy with the help of his Knights.

Above all, he lived in a new-found hope of her return.

He comes to the base of the landing ramp and comes to a still, transfixed with the fact she is truly here. She stands at the top and is now even more confused than before.

Her eyes dart from him to the Knights of Ren and then back at him. Does she realize that the Knights are actually her silent and unexpected allies? They already recognized her as a key ingredient in the new order he is trying to implement.

But for now, she obviously expects the handcuffs, the whole entourage and snarky comments, or maybe something even worse – silence, torture, deception, death?

How desperate she was to end this war. Her love for life and for galaxy made his heart tremble and some other parts tingle with desire. He became a concoction of tragedy and buffoonery, but he didn't care. After all, he was the focal point between the Darkness and the Light – contradiction came naturally to him, or at least that was what that monster of his former master believed in. A belief that ultimately cost him his multimillenial life, ironically.

He can't reach with his hand again to her – too many painful memories. But he can do something he did never before. He goes straight up to her, takes her face in his bare hands and kisses her on the forehead; then embraces her. She is apparently paralyzed with shock.

 _„Good,“_ he thinks. _„Stop resisting me, for a change.“_

Under his touch, she gasps. For a split second, she ponders whether to hit him in the shin or remain frozen until the danger is over. But there is no threat emanating from him, not at all. Only this time, it doesn’t make her panicky. Something within her flexes; her ribs extend, and then fall back with a shudder – if he’d have that sort of liberty, he’d probably feel every single rib on her. He can feel her nervous life struggling within every cell as it is.

„Don't go away,“ she says, her voice muffled. „They can't see me in this state.“

She's sobbing softly.

“I am so tired,” she gasps again in the most sorrowful admission of her fragility so far. “I’m so tired of all this… death.”

She admits this to the Jedi Killer – and there is no person in existence that can understand this better than he. He’s weary, as well. He was living his hell for at least 6 years now: probably his entire life with Snoke’s presence looming over him. He wants this peace as much as she does.

“They already saw your return,” he says, trying everything to comfort her. “You’re the power that will keep this galaxy together. Not the Resistance, not the Republic. Not even the First Order or the Empire. They are merely the tool in your hands.”

“That is just preposterous,” she says through a broken, bitter smile. But she leans in a bit and curls her hands under her chin and against his chest. She’s so tired and so alone – she only needs some peace and some rest. And he is more than eager to provide it all for her.

He smiles in her dark hair, infused with dust and some indiscernible mechanical stench and her tender warmth.

“Everything is preposterous,” he murmurs. “The nations call this new order the New Empire with me as the Emperor.”

“I thought you hated the past,” she says and almost chuckles.

“I do,” he mutters. “But I thought… whatever rocks their boat, kid. Supreme Leader sounds equally ridiculous.”

Her eyes finally meet his and she is left speechless, but only for a second. She obviously prepared some kind of a short political manifesto on her way here. Somewhere between the hyper-jump and being shot down. But she wasn’t prepared for this sort of welcome and for this kind of Han Solo act.

“We have to talk,” she says. “I have a proposition how to settle all these things once and for all”.

“Of course,” he says, and takes her by her hand.

Together, they descend.

* * *

 

“Demilitarize the Resistance,” she says. “Give them the New Alderaan. Make it a free zone. Free to trade, travel, and free not to follow the First Order.”

He’d rather have her eat her meal and recover something of those roses to her cheeks than recite her feverish ideas across the table. What he’d do most gladly is to feed her himself and kiss her in between.

“Rey,” he speaks eventually. “They’ll just turn the whole system into a slum. They did it already under the Republic, so why should I let them repeat the whole thing again?”

“Can’t we see this eye to eye?” She is exasperated. Ridiculous how much strength she has. Even as a Force user she is incredibly resilient. She went days on end without proper sleep or food. It impresses him far more than he’s interested in the fate of the Resistance. They can all go to hells, as far as he is concerned.

“How many ships did you win for them at the gambling tables?” This really interests him. He saw the holograms of her in a long, elegant dress, acting demurely around that damn pilot, manipulating the gamblers so they emptied their pockets directly into Resistance’s lap. Completely unworthy of a Jedi, even sacrilegious, but in a way, quite hilarious – he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Needless to say, she looked gorgeous: the pure white and the royal simplicity of her gown starkly contrasting the decadent flamboyancy of Canto Bight. _Blessed be all the security cameras of Canto Bight._ He’d empty all the treasury of the First Order to get that girl back. In that same dress. The initial shock prevents him from recognizing it instantly, but no doubt, it was his mother’s dress from the day they celebrated the destruction of the first Death Star. She probably left it with the Resistance, along with the jewelry.

He makes a mental note of explicitly demanding all of his mother’s possessions. They belong with her now, and she is his most coveted one.

Enthralled, he followed through every segment of her deception: Canto Bight was prepared for all sorts of tricks, except the Jedi ones. He knows exactly that sort of focused expression – lips slightly parted with a small frown forming on her forehead as she makes the gamblers fall into one inexplicable blunder after the other. That hand gesture, barely hidden between the folds of her dress – fingers slightly curled, a slow movement ending with a barely visible flick.

 _Oh, I know your Jedi ways_ , he wants to scream to her ear.

He wants to whisper it to her ear (it was in the first days, when she successfully thwarted his attempts to bond through the Force). He wants to project himself into that hologram and stand behind her, cupping her hand with his. _Let’s_ _do this together_ , he says. _But why stop on one trite casino? Let’s do it to the whole galaxy. Let’s subdue every living creature to do our bidding._

In his mind, she complies and they do it.

In his mind, he lays her flat on the velvet surface of one of the gambling tables; his gloved hands finding their way up her thighs, her ribs and her chest. Once he reaches the line of her naked skin, one glove is off. She arches up under his electric touch – and his thumb enters her slick, warm mouth. She sucks on it, thankful for the relief and the release he brought her, and he feels her velvety flesh grinding against his skin while the galaxy around them trembles at their feet; war trade collapsing, politics, intrigues and petty interests disintegrating until there are only undiluted lust and control and power.

In his reality, he is locked in his quarters and growls at the fact that she is so near and almost tangible, and yet out of his reach. Her high-resolution hologram freezes above him and he stares at her for so long he almost imagines she can sense his voyeurism from across the galaxy.

There is an ever growing melancholy about her in those days, and it makes his desire for her even greater.

“Ten,” she finally goes back to her lunch. She is so exhausted that his thoughts go undetected.

“You’ll probably have to give them back to their owners,” he says and grins. “This galaxy can’t have an Empress with a gambling problem.”

Her eyes quickly dart from her plate to him again. There’s exasperation, amusement and bewilderment in them.

A jaquira fruit nearly misses his head. It is really so cruelly unfair – why can’t he go back to his old arrogance and meager words? She used the Force, and masterfully at that. Her hands are busy with the cutlery – and if she wanted, she’d hit him. This was just a forewarning.

“That title,” she adds, her brow darkening. “Forget about it. Call me what you will, but not like that. I can’t be attached to the Empire in that way. It’s insulting.”

“So, when we’re married, you’ll be perpetually insulted?” He asks, but the humor wanes quickly as he searches her gaze. She pierces him through.

“I detest political marriages-.“

“It won’t be a political marriage,” he interrupts. His voice goes lower and she shudders. “At least not on my part.”

She backs down and reclines in her chair. This chamber is a perfect replica of the Room of the Morning Mists at Varykino. Vader destroyed her palace on Coruscant only to rebuild this, decision coming probably during one of his sleepless, haunted nights. However, this time, they’ll undo the damage done.

“I don’t know you, Ben,” she replies softly, but it is a weak resistance.

“You know me better than anyone else in the entire galaxy,” he replies decidedly. “Can’t have you roaming around freely with all my intimate secrets – call it a matter of galactic security.”

He rises up to his feet and flexes. Her slowly yielding is the best thing that has happened to him in years: no, in his entire lifetime.

“You want this galaxy to have peace, and order, and prosperity?” He adds, coming to her side, but not too close. She’s still uneasy around him.

“Of course,” she answers ardently. That’s the only truth she is certain of. Everything else is just one big and confusing haze.

“Make the sacrifice, then,” he says with tender mockery. “Take me as a husband and rule with me. Protect the children, the downtrodden, the Resistance, the wookies, the Lanais… be what I’m not; give the galaxy what I lack. Make the galaxy love you – you’re natural at that.”

Rey jumps to her feet, eyes widened. The lunch is over. She gasps, but can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Her response is sudden and it’s the Force – she intrudes on his thoughts, not crudely, but not very politely either. He lets her go in and see for herself. She was present in his mind like this only on Starkiller Base and as she fumbled through his thoughts, he realized then – as he is realizing now – that his inquisitor doesn’t give him pain. His rational mind tells him to resist, but then again, it’s the same rational mind that followed Snoke. Now his demon and his master are gone. He welcomes her and draws a deep breath as she comes pushing into him, only now there is no rage, but passion and inquisitiveness.

“You really mean it,” she says eventually, subsiding from his mind to his relative disappointment. She stands before him, perplexed to her core. “All of it.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

_No, never. Ever since the Starkiller Base. If anything, your excessive honesty might be regarded as hindrance._

“The orphans will be put under the protection of the state,” she says, resolute but dazed still.

“Done.”

“The Force sensitive children and youngsters will have special custody,” she adds, encouraged by how easily it went the first time. “And I’ll have the exclusive right to teach them.”

He looks at her. He never thought her so maternal, and it makes him… squirm a little. It’s impossible to love her more, but now he loves her from a different, yet unseen angle. _What’s more to be found about you, Kira?_

“You plan on re-instating the new Jedi Order?” He asks with a sort of dark amusement in his voice. “Ambitious task – one I can testify you from the first-hand experience probably won’t go the way you think.”

She shakes her head.

“No,” she replies cautiously. “There are not many of Force users left and they’re scattered and of different age. But I want to make them feel accepted. To know they’re not alone with that… thing inside themselves that they don’t understand. It’s frightening. I know it.”

She inspects him for a moment, and her piercing eyes become softer:

“So do you, Ben.”

“Done.” He retorts. _To all hells with it. If there is an aftermath, I’ll have her by my side. We’ll be invincible._

A faint smile of relief forms on her face, but she is quick to remember.

“The First Order will stop drafting children for their ranks,” she exclaims. “They’ll pay their wages if they decide to take a military career, not just lock them on their ships and feed them; and only when they come of age, not a day earlier. Those who wish to return to their families will receive enough money to go back and special Imperial credentials to move around freely.”

He already hears the uproar he’ll have to endure – and subdue – but he complies. He has the Knights of Ren at his side: the same ones that prevented Hux’s coup and detached his miserable head from his body. The Force is the only thing that matters, not the First Order with its technology and tiresome military hierarchy. He hates making a scene or a spectacle, despite all the rumors about his bad temper and narcissism – but he remembers the satisfying effect his Force lighting had on the war senate of the First Order. Someone wetted himself, somewhere. And a tomb-like silence ensued.

“It will be as you wish.”

Her jaw drops a bit, but she has to bring this agony to an end.

“The Resistance and all its sympathizers and allies will be pardoned and not pursued to acknowledge the rule of the First Order,” she utters the greatest challenge of all in one single, passionate breath. “They’ll receive a free pass and an organized transport to wherever they want to go. You’ll give Resistance the New Alderaan and you’ll make it a demilitarized zone – that means, the First Order can’t go there unless explicitly invited and can’t erect the military bases within the system.”

He frowns.

“I still don’t understand why you cling onto that relict so desperately,” he growls. “Their own general tried to shoot you down.”

“You tried to shoot me down,” she replies swiftly. “And here we are, so you should know better.”

He swallows hard. His gaze darkened. He wishes not to be reminded of his darkest hour.

 _You broke my heart_ \- would be the reply truest to reality. But he restrains his thoughts. He can’t go back to that… chaos and shame. Again.

“Good,” he retorts. “But they’ll have to come and sign the treaty themselves. You can’t speak on their behalf. They need to guarantee they’ll stop their little guerilla war.”

She nods.

“It will be done,” she says. She doesn’t know how, but she’s certain she can pull it off. She was in greater ordeals than this and knows Poe regretted in an instant for what he allowed to happen, his squadron firing at her in a moment of weakness and despair.

He inspects her for a moment, and for a moment, that glare confuses her.

“I gave you what you wanted,” he says, solemnly. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“Yes,” she answers slowly. The marriage – gods, everything else comes so easier, and is so much simpler, but this goes way above her head.

“Just give me some time, Ben,” she says softly. “Until the treaties are signed, until at least something of this madness is settled.”

He is really tired of her reluctance and her clinging on to her childhood action figures. He’s on the brink of just forcefully relocating the whole Resistance to New Alderaan, even if the whole galaxy suddenly sided with them… which is a prospect that he finds both ridiculous and elating. Possibility of living with her in an abandoned galaxy and re-populating the whole universe with their offspring is a stuff of mythology and of his most clandestine and decadent dreams.

But he knows very well the majority will cling on to the First Order, as it offered security, prosperity and being told what to do on the day to day basis.

He sighs, exasperated.

“Do you want me, Rey?”

She tries to answer, but gasps. How do you answer to this? How do you even remember how to speak? His eyes are dark and feverish, although something akin to a smile forms on his face.

“I think I never wanted something so bad in my entire life,” she finally utters. “It frightens me.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he says. “I can feel it, too.”


	3. Kira and Kylo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first wedding night from Kira's and Kylo's perspective. So, basically a marathon of smut with some inner musings. Also, Kylo Ren doesn't like the sand (I know, but I couldn't resist).

Soft buzz at his door. Soft steps on the floor of his room.

The arrival is sudden, but not entirely unexpected. And it is thoroughly enlivening.

Only few months ago, if she was at his door it would only be with her lightsaber in her hand. Like a goddess of was, eyes ablaze, swirling darks strands around her face creating a halo.

 _“Ren!”_ She roars, her sword-arm extended only to quickly ignite the other half of her two-sided saber. _“This ends now!”_

Force knows how it would end. Probably they would spar at first: he remembers the sensation of her back against his and her strong hand at his hipbone when she received the first attack of the Praetorians. And then he’d probably simply succumb – he was so tired, deadly tired of it all. And she was too beautiful in his eyes to let the opportunity pass: to die at her hands would be the most wonderful way to die.

But for whatever reason, the Force didn’t wish him dead – not yet. And she didn’t, too: for whatever reasons, almost all of which have nothing to do with the Force.

„I can't fall asleep,“ she admits with child-like simplicity. New gray and white Jedi robes on her – she found a blueprint forgotten somewhere in the imperial archives: imperial techs being meticulous, if not somewhat indiscriminating. Then she found a seamstress – a _seamstress_ no less, profession almost as quaint as his calligraphy – who also happened to have a sister, a Resistance affiliate. The girl was overwhelmed with gratitude, because _“Rey’s peace”_ (that’s how people call the new Galactic Treaty, even before it’s officially sealed) saved her sister from prosecution. He lets her have her little Resistance pets; have her Jedi ways and Jedi clothes, having only some vague musings of how he’d relish in releasing her from both.

A thin smile forms on his lips as she enters, overwriting the entry codes on his blastdoor.

She helps him read through the data-pads and the reports. Then, exhausted enough, she sleeps by his side. In the morning, he slips away as carefully as he can, tucking her in synthsilk covers.

First they sit at the opposing sides of the desk, and then she moves to sit near him on one of the two chairs that adorn his simple room. Then he orders a sofa to be brought in. She’s little uneasy at first, but assumes place by his side, and soon reclines against him. The contact is tense and somewhat awkward for both, but before long it becomes something natural and almost habitual.

It was the day before the expected meeting with the remaining Resistance when he felt her sidelong glance at his face. Out of politeness, he didn’t want to probe her thoughts, but her eyes were so intensely curious that it prompted him to ask:

“What is amiss?”

“Nothing,” she murmured softly and returned her gaze but not her attention to data-pad in her lap.

“Something clearly is,” he said and looked back at her, trying to sound matter-of-factly when he was actually as amused as she was and without any particular reason. Her good humor was infective. She probably saw something agreeable in her visions since she’s so relaxed and whimsical even – the outcome of the ensuing negotiations delights her. Not that he would care about what Resistance planned or didn’t plan to do. It’s her happiness that became his only concern a long time ago (since he last time saw her on Ahch-to, to be precise).

Her lips expanded into a playful smile, but she didn’t look at him in return.

“I remembered how I had difficulty looking at your face,” she said and blushed. “That third time I saw you through the Force.”

His smile widened, although he struggled a bit to remember what time did she refer to exactly.

But it lasted for a moment only.

_Oh._

He again regretted his pitiful state of those days and the fact that he strode past her, not noticing her… struggle.

“Your sincerity is indeed praiseworthy,” he said. “But alas, I must regretfully inform you that shall not suffice, My Lady. I demand some sort of war-time compensation.”

“And what would that be?” She asked cautiously, slowly removing the data-pad with a simple flick of a wrist. It landed in the soft cushion of the Force some feet further and on the desk.

„Kiss me,“ he said, looking down at her. It is a tender demand, but still a demand. „Like before.“

She frowns, but can't deny him or herself that elementary pleasure. She kisses him, and he keeps their lips locked for a moment longer. And another. And yet another after that.

„Wait,“ she whispers, breaking the bond, gasping. Her small hand on his collar bone. „I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Learn something from me about patience and waiting, Ben.“

Only she can call him that and not be censored or killed for an insult or treason.

His true life is here, in these secluded moments.

He stares at her and finds the look on her face a satisfying replica of what she described before. So he loosens the embrace, letting her leave. But she doesn’t. In fact, she leans in closer to nestle between him and the back of the sofa, nuzzling up there with the same dexterity she’d use to find a small and welcoming burrow between metal and sand during one of the many unpredicted sandstorms on Jakku.

“Anything else you’d like to confess, now the seal of silence has been broken, My Lady?” He asks again, bemusedly. But a darker undertone escapes him and the pressure on his collar bone intensifies. A low purr of Force, reminiscent of what he felt from her at the Starkiller Base, goes through his bones.

“It is so easy to touch you now,” she whispers back. “But I don’t intend to abuse the privilege.”

_Oh, but do abuse it._

“You are aware I too know a thing or two on waiting?” He answers, dissatisfied she blocked his own more ardent admissions. “And to learn from you on matters on patience…”

He smiles at her tauntingly and she blushes over. She really fought against her first impulse to touch him, mesmerized with how real the bond in the Force felt; something telling her that his hair must be the softest thing in the universe; and really resisted not to look down the next time, her natural disdain for naked human body all but gone in his presence. Not quite a paramount example of patience, she had to admit again.

But she won’t make this easier for him, either.

“You had a cowl,” she says and almost chuckles. “You have a bunch of cowls, tunics, shirts, and capes.”

She grins excessively, disrespectfully and wonderfully.

This obvious deception makes him clear his throat and tense a bit.

“You smile too widely, you know,” he grunts, but doesn’t shy away. Her warmth and her strength at his side are the only things he ever wished for.

„It is just matter of days now,“ she murmurs softly. „My love.“

She pronounces the four-letter word slowly, like she’s learning a new language – one she’s eager to learn and in depth, not insulting the native speakers.

His narrow, solemn face relaxes at the words, his nostrils slightly expanding as the breath that made them possible reaches him.

When the spell wanes a bit, he’d like to make another snarky remark regarding the Resistance they have to meet tomorrow but realizes she’s already fallen asleep. It is somewhat disappointing, but her intense fragility keeps his more carnal needs in place. There is a hum of the Force she emanates that softens him and makes him meeker.

And he willingly lets her have her way.

* * *

 

The ceremony is simple and reasonably shortened one. She found a Force-temple wedding incantations and, in the absence of Force priests, sang them herself. The only thing that made the Jedi nonsense tolerable is her warm and dark alto.

He could listen to that voice for days on end.

They disrobe each other gradually, almost ritualistically. She folds hers carefully and leaves it in a crate specially designed for the occasion. It is easier for him, he supposes. Nothing too characteristic or worth keeping in his simplified black uniform styled after Ren traditions.

It is the memory of this night that will be his keepsake. His brain was used and abused to store only painful and violent deviant memories for too long, but now something entirely else comes his way.

He now suspects the seamstress has more affection for his wife than mere gratitude and awe: if anything, his and hers vision of Kira overlap. Once her long coat, one that Jedi council would readily approve of, comes off, her wedding gown proves to be something that would send all those arrogant old fools into bouts of hocking and raised eyebrows and long discussions on celibacy and whatnot. Observing her – absorbing her with his gaze and he is quite certain that gaze is just pure hunger by now – he doesn’t regret the abolition of the Jedi order, at least for the time being.

“Wait,” she says and he shudders, embarrassed with the overflow of explicit imagery in his head, afraid she’ll be too frightened to continue this entrancing dance they started.

“I didn’t intend to…” He starts to explain himself, but she hushes him. The sensation of her fingers on his lips is intoxicating and the world starts spinning in a pleasant haze.

“I know,” she whispers. “I can feel it too.”

There is a small playful smile on her lips as she reaches out and removes the remainder of his clothes, leaving him lying on his back. There is no need for shame. They’re one body, after all. And one soul.

“I think you’ll learn to recognize,” she whispers into his dazed mind. “That there is more to me than what you saw. There is a bit of darkness in me, too. And it is a pleasant sort of darkness... most of the times.”

But the painful memories dissipate before their new common experiences: a kiss on his lips as she arches above him, hands at the both sides of his head, her knees slowly descending on their bed, her radiating heat so close to his.

“The sort of darkness that makes life possible.”

Another kiss, this time deeper. She lowers herself on her elbows slowly, her chestnut hair falling over his forehead, leaving him under the impression he’s being drowned in the tenderest way possible, in an amber hued ocean, warm and fragrant. “The sort of darkness where singing stars die and make life anew.”

Her fingers running through his hair, there is something both commanding and mild in that gesture – like a blessing and an order for him to stay still. To succumb. Just to do… nothing. Her breasts, free from the wraparound, are mere inches from his face – so he reaches out and receives one in his mouth. Busy with his hair, she doesn’t shrink from the sensation. He has only so much focus left to clench his hands around her narrow waist and make her shiver; her sun-kissed skin all electric pleasure.

And now, he is dying in a wonderfully long agony he doesn’t wish to end.

_Gods, Rey._

* * *

 

Indeed, it is the softest thing she ever touched, luxuriant fabrics unrolled before her included - she really found no reason to step out of her Jedi clothes, but the _manuals_ and her new friend Serena advised otherwise. _“I can make it look like Jedi robes,”_ the girl exclaimed and the sheer excitement on her face was just too endearing for Rey to decline. Something similar to Rose Tico’s vibrant nature about her – she misses her friends from the Resistance, so she complies.

Hovering over him, she smiles into his hair. Faint scent – something fresh, and natural, like minerals and fresh ocean breeze in the morning – funnily enough, it reminds her of Ahch-to. Then again, Ahch-to was her only encounter with sea water so unpolluted and untouched. Ocean on Cantonica is just rubbish in comparison.

“The sort of darkness one can have rest in,” she nearly purrs, and now he is unsure whether she truly said it in her own words or he wished those words to himself.

But she is real, no doubt. And the intensity of her presence is such that he thinks his heart could explode. Before that, however, he’d like to do… things.

His fingers find the dimples at the base of her spine and then the rift of her back, strong and of lean muscles. It borders with physical impossibility how much energy she emanates and how riveting and new her body is: all movement, and strength, and passion and joy. Absorbing her, he feels the tension rising between her legs. The life Force is tumultuous around that place, it’s almost tangible – so he reaches out with his hand and is met with softness, and roaring joyous energy, with a vibrating pearl and her long surprised moan as he gently circles that place.

 _Did you practice this?_ He smiles against her lips and her tongue.

 _Did you?_ She utters bemusedly, but her words are fluttery. It makes him smile at the sort of pleasure he gives her.

 _Research and development_ , he answers and her eyes, now open – something almost raptorish about them – pierce him through. In the split second, he is on his side, her right leg on top of his hip, her left knee quickly wedged between his legs; her soft and hot core grinding against him; her kisses almost violent and greedy; her arm outstretched beneath his head, her fingers entangled in his hair. There are both rage and desire in her now, and although he feels he is being used for her pleasure only, he yields to this dark Rey, surprised with how feral she became. Although he really shouldn’t be surprised - he remembers her wolfish sneer in the Throne Room and her feral battle roar – and remembers her presence in the Force as bright, blinding light and excitement and hunger. The similar sort of hunger now directed his way. She’ll take whatever she wants. And he lets her have it… for now.

Slowing down only when her anger subsides, she lands soft kisses on the long scar on his face, neck and collar bone. Her hand slides down his chest to find the bowcaster wound. The skin is tender there, so he gasps and shivers.

“Have your eyes on me, _husband_ – and only for me,” she whispers in the short interlude she lets herself and him breathe. That title is already beginning to take hold – he prefers it over the Master of the Knights of Ren, over his name of Kylo Ren, over that name he was born with. Blinking dots of her blinding light away, he finds her stare changed: softened, but still fixed on him like he was the most wonderful thing she’s ever laid her eyes upon. Passionately inquisitive, scrutinizing him like she’s surveying all the possibilities and all the things that he could do.

“I am not one of your stolen freighters and dismantled hyper-drive modules, Kira,” he grunts, but finds himself incapable of holding a grudge against her, especially now.

 “No, you’re not,” she smiles, knowingly.

* * *

 

 _Such a strange amalgam of softness and hardness_ , she thinks: uneven skin of his scar, the one she created, against his even and pale skin. His trimmed beard gives him an appearance of a young Jedi master, which she’ll tell him one day with the sole purpose to taunt him; his lips and the blush on his cheeks betray his true, young age. Her languid eyes _– so it is true what the manuals say, it really slows down your neurological responses - and it applies to Force users too_ – slide down again and she smiles. Beautiful design of nature, indeed: everything about him – terrible as the nature, hauntingly beautiful as well.

“I will make it up to you, Ben,” she utters. “You’ll forget everything that has happened before, I swear.”

“Ambitious goals again,” he murmurs to her face peevishly. In a second, his fingers are around her panties and tug them down to her ankles in one single swift motion. He tries to grin as he finds her orifice hot and soaking wet, but soon falls back and moans. She straddled him and resumed moving against him slowly. His little wife claimed new weapon and pilot seats of stolen ships like this – and the pilot in him can’t be more appreciative.

“I never shrugged in front of difficult tasks,” she pants over him while his hands find her firm breasts. “I killed people when I was 15.”

“You don’t need to do this,” he whispers as his drowsy eyes lock on her shoulder scar from the Throne Room. His fingers stroke that place, then wander down to her ribs were that blaster shot wound was. “You can’t compare to what I’ve done. Let’s not dwell on the past.”

He commends himself and her for being able to think, let alone speak in this state. He shifts a bit underneath her so that his hardness can grind her pearl. The noise she made isn’t in his head alone – it reverberates through their room and makes him insanely proud with the sort of power he has over her. He smiles again triumphantly, administering more pressure and more speed this time.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” She asks him breathlessly.

Actually, he does. He wants to know everything there is about her.

“They tried to loot my daily scavenging quota,” she whispers back, darkness lingering in her voice. “Can’t let them have it. Couldn’t let them have something _of my own_.”

Leaning into his face again slowly, to make sure her message is conveyed loud and clear, she whispers again:

“You’ll find I know how to protect something _I_ earned after a hard day’s work; something that _I_ claimed, something which is _mine_ … _My_ Lord.”

And the message is indeed received in every possible sense. His hands go to those indents just above her beautiful ass again, his thumbs massaging the inner of her thighs and the proximity of her core, and he ponders his vectors and their distance for a second, but only for a second.

Using her insecure knees and imbalanced position, he rolls over her swiftly and lands her on her back; this time, her arms are above her head, pinned down with his one hand. He was afraid he’ll frighten her. He was afraid she’ll once again decline his advances. He could wait: he would wait for her for another million years if needed be, but it would only prove to be a martyrdom of unseen proportions. Only she does not tell him to stop and to wait – if anything, the change in position seems to only make her greedier. It is incredible that she can summon so many different emotions to her face: the adoration and hunger, love and lust, dominance and fragility. It is anything but possible, but that is she – his life, his soul, his Empress.

“Thank you,” he just mumbles before he thrusts into her. It is not a gentle movement, but she isn’t a gentle wife. She makes another of her beautiful savage moans that transforms into a growl, into something resembling her battle cry (he suspected these two spheres of her identity were intimately connected and now he empirically confirmed the link). Arching up, her hands threatened to be released, but he presses her down and she lets him have it his way. Then, she lets him in again and again, leading him with her legs locked around him, her feet against his bottom, her knees pressed high at his sides.

Powerful, protective, loyal and fierce, but not a tender wall flower, not by a long shot. She is Rey. She is Kira. The alien and human life of Jakku avoided her in fear of her temper. She destroyed his best ships, his best pilots; she navigated that piece of junk going under the name of “Millennium Falcon” like she breathed new life into the rust bucket. She destroyed the Praetorian Guard. If she wanted to, she could destroy him – she was at the brink of doing so at least two times already. The galaxy depends now on her single word.

He depends on her every word.

 There is nothing in his way now. She yields to him releasing cry after cry of pleasure and pain. Ravenous. Relieved. She asked him to release her from all that suffering and all that death, and he did that for her. He didn’t fail her. He gave her the peace, and the Empire, and himself willingly. And in turn, she opened herself up to him completely. There are no secrets between them anymore and no barriers, no masters and no gods to keep them apart.

* * *

 

He lowers himself on her and now those are his real hands on her – on her breasts, rolling her hard nipples, on her neck, pressing her down until she gasps, her walls closing even more firmly around him; and on her mouth.

 _Taste it,_ she thinks. _You now have the chance._ It’s almost like the target lock-down, and the anticipation is almost exactly the same. _I’m so completely deranged_ ; she admits to herself and realizes she doesn’t care. This is the exact level of intimacy she allows herself with the darkness: it tries to lure her in, the abyss. Promises of war and glory and fear she’d instill. But she looks back and doesn’t flinch. She’s immune because of the darkness that’s embedded for so long inside her soul, probably even before she was born.

 _I know all your secrets_ , she whispers to the darkness and to herself and to Ben. She licks and sucks and kisses his palm and his fingers. It is his scent and his taste – like salt, and metal, and warmth, and something carnal and musky; but also, his compassion and the brutality of torment he endured, all of which make her fierce and wildly protective in turn. Her own hands grab his waist and her nails dig into his skin. He moans. _This is the only torture you’ll ever have to endure, my love_ , she thinks. _More,_ he grins. Her strong hands now lock on his bottom so he quickens.

And there is something else – the life Force, concentrated and embodied in hot fluid released inside her – just a spark of it. The space around them starts lurching almost like on the demolished “Supremacy”; but it’s not sickening this time, not at all. She left him lying there with a clear realization both she and the Force don’t wish his demise – they will him back, so homewards is where he’ll go. _In time… it will take time_ , she thinks before even thinking dispels into nothingness. There is a crescendo, quiet as the deep space at first, but then rising to a deafening noise. The last image she remembers before the very definition of reality blurs is the shimmering trail of sweat on his chest and the high relief-like muscles, all springing up and tensing in their joint symphony; his narrow face alert and longing under the unruly, electrified tresses – the old feverish and hungry gaze back.

“Ben,” Kira hears her own voice through that deafening silence and through that deafening noise. “Ben!”

It’s a long roar, a moan, a plea, a call to come back, to come to the Light, to come to her – she knows just how barely he tolerates that name, but still persists. She is the only one who can cause him pain, and he lets her penetrate his mind with luminescent tendrils of Force. _Come back. Come back._ _Come…_ But at the height of it all, with him both so high and so deep within her (she never knew her body was capable of such physical improbabilities), as that growing life Force becomes a loud roar, so does her own voice:

“BEN!”

His palm swiftly cupping her mouth, he moans and growls in half-frustration, half-delirium. The sound of his hips against her flesh breaks through their decrescendo and she gives her over completely until his name becomes a meditative mantra: “Ben. Ben. Ben.”

He turns her to her side and penetrates her for the last few times and from a different angle, extracting the remnants of her orgasm from her; the position making her even tighter and even more yielding. Kira gasps and sighs – he saw this from her. He found her hidden wish to be undone like this, and completely at his mercy.

So she gives almost everything away like soft rain: the memories of her miserable existence on Jakku, of everyday physical straining, of her undertaking the most dangerous scavenging expeditions as the resources became ever dwindling; of her crying herself to sleep at night, afraid if she’ll make it through another day; of her, clinging to that voice as the only source of hope and comfort, even when it left her side for months on end, trusting him he will come back for her one day.

“My sweetheart,” he murmurs and slows down, caressing her face with his hand. Her cheek is moist, and it’s not just sweat.

“Did I hurt you?” He whispers, releasing her from his grip, kissing away her silent tears.

“No,” she utters and kisses him back. “Not at all. I think this is what happiness looks like.”

They spoon, bodies entangled, and he can’t be completely sure with his focus dissipated, but there is probably a soft purr of Force between them. The energy they exchanged is like a tide, like two waves colliding and then ebbing into a vast ocean; waters, once churning now rolling lazily over the soft sand.

He really dislikes the sand, though; but there is something elementary about the fantasy of making love to this otherworldly creature on the volcanic beach on a wild, remote planet of hauntingly beautiful nature.  Or on Jakku, because the sentimental part of her wanted to go back there once again and make peace with her own past. He can’t think of a better way to comfort her than this. He kicks the sheets – it’s too hot with that outburst of energy they released, and the synthsilk feels exactly like grinding sandstone compared to her soft skin.

Falling to sleep, with her succulent ass nestled in his lap, and with his arm around her serving as a pillow, with her arm flung behind her head and again entangled in his hair (she’ll have to elaborate this obsession later, particularly because that awe-struck gaze flatters him so), the other caressing his hand softly, he tells her about Naboo and the Waterfall County. With all her ferocity and all her strength and that looming darkness, deeply buried in her very core, she still has that endearing child-like quality around her: verdant planets where clear waters flow abundant still mesmerize her like the single most beautiful fairy tale ever told. He visited the planet many times when he was still a child, and dreamed about going back to that place that he loved so much. She would like the planet as well: after all, Naboo was filled with his mother’s supporters and sympathizers, the prosecution of which has ceased the moment he claimed power. He never supported chaos – he was determined to bring the order and prosperity to this galaxy. And deep inside, he mourned the fact his mother never saw the end of the conflict, only vaguely pondering how she’d accept this new order of things; also, he yearned for the message to come to her, to the last remaining person that mattered, the only one that mattered. And it did. And it made her lips expand into a thin smile among the perplexed Resistance fighters.

“Honeymoon, perhaps,” he whispers in her ear, and kisses her earlobe.

It goes above her head how he – they – plan to run the whole galaxy in this state and in _this_ position, but she’ll improvise. She always did.

 


	4. His Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imperial household issues. And smut.

She didn't attend that war meeting, informing him she'll dedicate the whole day to mediation.

„Don't interrupt me,“ she said, rather brusquely.

He made an involuntary lapse during their meeting with the Twi’lek envoys who came to receive the highest stately guarantees that their collective slavery will be abolished. Just a single vague thought and a reflex reaction of his senses was enough for her to pierce him with her eyes – unseen to anyone but himself. Then she assumed her usual pleasant countenance, her bright, wide smile back on her face. He didn't betray her – not once, and he never will. His mind and eyes wandered for a second across that one’s creature’s curves only because Rey's presence opened a whole new world of sympathy and of admiration for all things living and breathing in this beautiful, vast and terrible galaxy of theirs.

He was concerned that she’ll just vanish or cast him away from their marital chamber, because she was late that evening. No explanation, no forewarning – she just made a weak excuse of going to the newly re-built Jedi temple, to help with the construction work there, but nothing more, and certainly nothing personal.

He probably has some abandonment issues, because the waiting proves to be almost intolerable. He can’t keep his attention focused on his work; his mind and eyes stray; he tries to reach her through the bond, but something blocks it… it almost makes him go insane, when she appears at the door. Her simple Jedi robes on her, only supplemented with a more elaborate hairstyle. Something almost wild around her and very raw – she wasn’t crying, but she suffered an emotion she never experienced before. She feels helpless – not so much because of his weakness, but because of her own. And he needs to pay for this confusion.

“Pray, educate me on this, My Lord,” it is she who speaks first. “What is expected of a wife to do in these situations? Should I perhaps break something? We both tried that and it led us nowhere. Should I weep or curse? Should I raise a rebellion of my own, dethrone you? It will be difficult, but it is manageable, My Lord. I tried to find an answer in the Jedi temple, but I fear their wisdom doesn’t cover this sort of madness.”

 _Have we become so trivial, so quickly?_ Her words may be mocking and cold, but her thoughts and emotions reveal how hurt and dumbfounded she is.

“You are the only temple I know and only religion I follow,” he falls to his knees before her. “Please, forgive me.”

The same Jedi intuition that uncovered his lapse the first time now comes to his aid. She cannot fail to see his heartfelt regret.

“Perhaps,” she utters, still unyielding. “We shall see.”

* * *

 

 “Incredible,” she said afterwards, whipping him with that dark gaze of hers which made him shudder with desire to break her resistance and drag her back to bed. “You try to pin your lack of self-control on me? Because what…”

Wrapped in sheets, she stopped with a finger pointing up, amused and furious at the same time.

“My presence _opened a whole new world of sympathy and of admiration for all things living and breathing in this beautiful, vast and terrible galaxy_ ,” she recited and then waved with her hand, releasing a frustrated chuckle as she leaned over to pick up her undergarments from the floor, part of her thigh and derriere flashing as she did.

“You…,” she straightened up quickly, realizing how exposed she was. Blushing again, like the first time.

Noticing a wolfish smile forming on his face, she struggled mentally to find an appropriate derogative for him.

“…dangerous dreamboat.”

She should continue reprimanding him like this, definitely.

“I should really take you with me. You spend too much time on your own while I’m teaching the little ones,” she added, trying to fasten her brassiere in front until she discovered the mechanism was broken from the last night. Again. Exasperated, she rolled the useless garment into a lump and threw it his way. “And stop tearing my clothes, gods damn you. Life-forms around the galaxy go undressed and exposed to the elements, and you destroy mine like it’s nothing. If you have the appetite for destruction, tear your own clothes. Oh, but I remember – you don’t wear your clothes, don’t you? No cowls, nothing from waist up at least? Gods and Force and Balance… lo and behold, the Emperor is naked.”

It is he who chuckles this time, flexing his muscles under the sheets.

“Just tell your little seamstress-Resistance-happy-friend to make a dozen for you,” he murmurs. “I don’t think she’ll find it a chore. The girl has a crush on you as it is.”

“Stop it,” her eyes ablaze, she harnessed the Force and hurled it his way. Enough to send him lying on his back – and their marriage taught him well to know what to anticipate afterwards, so he demonstrates no resistance. “I told you not to mock her. She’s a good friend – but of course, how could you ever tell the difference? The closest thing you got to a friend is the abominable Ren bunch. But their time is coming to an end. I can feel it. The Balance is gathering from the distance. It is upon us and they’ll have no part in it.”

Releasing himself from the cobweb of her Force, he frowned, but was not particularly alarmed. He knew this himself.

“They’re not my friends, never were. They’re servants; agents at best. Either way, what do you plan to do?” He asked, but couldn’t help and notice her forearms and backs more muscular and her thighs and bottom with more flesh on them than that time she landed on _Nephallactis_. His eyes wander again and absorb every little gesture and movement she makes as she walks through their room. In her fury, she’ll skip the showering, apparently. And it makes him grin. She’ll go and meditate with his scent and his fluids still on her.

“Nothing – absolutely nothing,” she replied, and there was no lie in her words. “A Jedi cannot interfere – it can only uphold the Balance. Listen to the Force, Ben. I do it all the time, and you should do it, too.”

Realizing he probably drifted away the moment her Jedi “nonsense” came flowing in, she sighs. He actually has almost the exact same expression he had when she recited BB-8’s technical specification to him. But she was patient. She knew how to wait. He might think she’s given up on trying to pull him back to the Jedi ways, to the man he is meant to become, but she will soon prove him wrong.

“Did you hear anything of what I just said?” She appears before him to land a demanding kiss on his lips.

“You’re just a beautiful static, Jedi,” he utters brazenly, and pulls her down with him.

War meeting can wait, so can her dressing up. There is no war left. They call their briefings like that only out of formality and custom. They led the whole galaxy into an unprecedented era of peace and restoration.

Together, they bridled the First Order so it became an instrument in their hands, not vice versa. Using the mental manipulation, they subdued even the most restless spirits. As he predicted, the majority of the galaxy, even without Force manipulation, sided with the First Order – it was in the nature of many nations and races to obey and follow, rather than to think for themselves. This, his mother knew best, was the main reason behind the downfall of the New Republic and the rise of the First Order. Only now that power has limit and they set it. Leia would find this outcome cynical, but even she couldn’t downplay the brilliance of their results: the war was over. The slavery, existent even before her mother’s time, was abolished throughout the galaxy. His wife’s orphanages strived under her watchful eye, prompting her to make regular and often visits stretching from hours to days (he thoroughly resented the separation). Leia’s precious Resistance was still alive and well in the New Alderaan planetary system, her surrogate son still living and ruling as a General – democratic president. In a way, his mother would have to be proud. Maybe not so proud of what’s going on in his bedchamber, but then again… he overheard his parents once or twice. Gods of the galaxy knows those two weren’t the most prudish people in the existence.

* * *

 

When his new Imperial guards announced her by the end of that meeting (one particularly dull and drawn out), he was equally shocked and delighted. His gaffe bothered him and he was concerned she won’t forgive him that easily. Thank gods for the beard – it concealed the small smiling wrinkles forming around his lips.

The Knights of Ren stood up and bowed their heads to her. It was bizarre, enticing and amusing at the same time – these vicious men acting sheepishly around their Empress, acknowledging the Supreme Leader’s murderess as their leader. But then again, Knights follow the might in any form. Snoke was old and decadent and played his part in this great Dark Side drama. They found no objection to pledging their allegiance to him, even after his blunder on Crait. They saw something in the Sith temples that he didn't and what they saw included not the destruction, but conversion of the Jedi to their cause. In a strange way, he was comforted. He still had his place somewhere. He belonged – somewhere. And it made his resolve to bring her back even greater.

Once they were left alone in the vast Throne Room (although he made every effort for it not to look like that accursed place), she approached him slowly. She was wrapped in an ankle long coat, color deep crimson, lined with fur, its ends swooshing sensuously as she moved. Her long hair, now falling down her shoulders and reaching half of her back, contrasted the light tone of her perfect skin.

He could really promote that seamstress, because the creative influence is clearly there – if someone can persuade the Jedi apprentice to get out of her quaint robes and into something this lavish, then it’s this person with obvious admiration for the Old Republic.

Their nights were all passion and gentleness and animalistic hunger, especially after days of separation. He couldn't get enough of her, and so she of him. Actually, his back hurt – and it was a pleasant sort of pain, if he was to be completely honest – from the trails her nails broke only the night before.

„What is it so important that it couldn't wait for the meeting to end?“ He had to pretend that he has some sort of power over her: it apparently did wonders to their sex life.

Her nose wrinkled.

„Come now,“ she retorted. „I saved you from an hour-long boredom. Don't pretend I don't know. I know everything.“

Yes, she does.

Still, he had to play the game further. He arched a bit, leaning towards her, and expanding the barely healed skin on his back so it cracked again here and there.

„You have your Emperor's attention now.“ He said and almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it all.

She smiled back – a taunting, dark sort of smile.

„I have my Emperor's everything,“ she came right before him, closing him in and kissing him until he forgot how to breathe.

She climbed on top of him, as the throne was wide enough to receive both of them. This was something new. They made love virtually everywhere, except in this place: so why here, and why now? And she was usually tamer than this, especially with the remaining First Order officers around. However, he didn’t mind her new straightforwardness, not at all. His hands outstretched, he grabbed the ends of her coat and stripped it away, pearl-like buttons flying erratically and landing with soft clicks on the floor. Her beautiful skin flashed beneath it so brightly, her fresh scent intensified, her dark strands spilling over his hands and over his face so that he forgot what the question was. He remained wildly delighted at the fact that her glorious body was wrapped in a semi-transparent, barely-there delicate fabric.

She murmured something regarding the coat destroyed, but she didn't forget the initial reason of her visit. She had that sort of single-mindedness in her.

„I had a vision,“ she said, her breath so pleasingly shortened. „The Force allowed it. It should happen tonight and in this room.“

He understood immediately. They have been trying for some time now, but something prevented it from happening. Perhaps her youth, perhaps the years of harsh life, perhaps it was him, perhaps the Force... or everything from the above. He didn't care. If his bloodline was to end with him – who cares? Gods know he strained under the burden of that heritage.

They already deliberated on picking one of the Force sensitive children under their custody and training them in the ways of the Force: preparing them for the leadership role. Probably that young boy saved from fathier stables on Cantonica – Temiri Blagg. The only _padawan_ showing no fear in front of Kylo Ren – dark, ancient eyes on young pale face, scrutinizing him in an all-around Jedi way. And although he loathed the Jedi ways and the fact his own wife spent too much time away from him because of them, even he couldn’t deny the peace that inhabited this school, hidden in the young Anueti forest near the old Jedi temple on Coruscant. The cosmic Force Kira emanated was such that the air around her appeared cleaner and fresher than anywhere else on the densely populated and polluted planet; the greenery richer than on Takodana; the serenity probably similar to that of Ahch-to. And someone who was such a potent vessel of the cosmic Force must become a potent vessel of life Force as well. Everything gets its awakening sooner or later. Either way, the last thing he wanted to do is to lose whatever precious time he had with his beloved wife on futile concerns and uncertain medical procedures. The miracle of life remained a mystery, even with all of their technological progress.

 _One step further and I’ll become that Jedi fledgling again_ , he grunted, reprimanding himself for this sudden philosophical rumination. But she demonstrated so much patience and so much serene strength with her pupils: and she didn’t shy away from praising them for their small feats and comforting them in their failures. The little ones she’d greet by ruffling their hair or nudging them playfully; the older ones she treated like they were her equals, not like pupils that should be held at distance and off balance with questions. A unique approach, one Luke never exhibited – but then again, this was a new era, of new Force users: definitely not as powerful as Luke’s Jedi students were, demanding a firm hand to see them through. But these young people were far more balanced and wiser – without any doubt. Force had its strange ways. It was almost tangible, that incoming change, rolling in the air like tide. Ridiculously enough, if he was left to teach them – hypothetically of course – he’d probably act unnervingly similar to Luke Skywalker. _No one wants that sort of master_ , he concurs, but this sort of mistress…

A patient mistress, a luminous creature full of joy and strength: now in his arms, her hips against his abdomen and her legs locked around him. Not exactly an image he’d let her pupils see, or anyone else for that matter – this is for his eyes only.

“What should I do with you, Kira?” He asks, amused. “What should I do _to_ you?”

“The table,” she replied, teeth bare. He highly doubts her vision was that particular, but complies nevertheless.

He sweeps all the remaining data-pads and slides the hologram projector far away so that only feeble reflection of Unknown Territories flickers between them. She giggles at how clumsily ferocious he became. She relished in her new role, and, gods, was it a turn on for him _. There is no abuse of privilege here_ , he muses and chuckles: this desk was built explicitly for him to observe his possessions more accurately. His Empress put her bare feet on his hips; her embroidered slippers long gone somewhere on their way from the throne. The sensation of her warm flesh so close to his sent a delightful, new throbbing to his lower regions.

„Tell me.” His belt flew across the room and landed with a resounding bang against the hard marble floor. And the gloves he’ll just find later again. Or won’t. „Did you see them?“

Her expression became one of deep tenderness and adoration.

„Yes,“ she replied softly, helping him loosen his trousers. „There will be twins... at first.“

And she chuckled again. The Force had very strange ways, indeed. She never failed in her predictions so far, so why would she now?

„Tell me more,“ he growled and panted. Every single breath she took and every single syllable she whispered in his direction pumped new blood in him. The dress she was wearing was something uncannily resembling the Old Republic, and he couldn’t be more delighted: the era being something he always preferred above everything else, both as Ben and as Kylo. He noticed the elaborate arm bands with symbols of Alderaan and the intricate broche in the front, high beneath her neckline, signifying system’s two suns (and in his mind, their firstborns). The folds of her dress, color deep crimson, barely concealed her hard nipples and the chiffon-like fabric, he could almost swear, had an enhancing sensory effect, like it was more of a luxurious oil spilled between him and her than an actual textile. The ends of her dress came up around her hips, and he parted her legs, stroking her thighs with his bare hands, knowing this movement always made her release that particular noise half-way between the battle cry and a moan. On his part, he almost roared at the fact that she came without her undergarments on: waving her tight ass in front of his generals and the Knights of Ren, her short dark silk glistening with her wetness (he trimmed that hair only some days prior during an elaborate foreplay). _Gods damn it, woman. When you have your agenda, you really have your agenda._

„I will give you as many children as my womb can bear,“ she said like a prophetess of the old and he almost lost it. He liked so much what she did here, from her wicked nakedness to her historical referencing. Making love to Darth Kraia in her youth (of course) wouldn't feel this invigorating and this maddening. Seeing him half-delirious, she had to taunt him, again. She feared he will go insane if she continues like this.

„And then I'll get so fat and so annoying and the courtiers will call me Empress Jabba,“ she said right to his face and giggled and rubbed her wetness against his hardening cock.

„What?!“ He barked as he heard barely half of what she said. Then he quickly recomposed. He should be rewarded for this, and she should pay for it.

„I don't care,“ he said. „I'm gonna feed you myself and fuck you until you don't know how to speak or think.“

„I am just playing, My Lord,“ she said and caressed his cheek. „Just keep all your strength. You'll need it. You’ll father a whole clan.“

He kissed her long and fiercely until she yipped – he broke the tender skin of her lower lip.

„That should serve you right for fooling around.“ He grinned but soon lost his breath. Again. She led him with both her hands to her mound this time, mixing pain and pleasure, plea and demand in equal measure. She wanted him so much, but it didn’t scare her anymore. She ruled over him the same way he ruled over the larger part of the galaxy.

„Tell me again,“ he whispered and with that, thrust himself into her.

„A boy and a girl,“ she murmured, her eyes rolling back into her head. He smiled and grazed her neck with his lips.

„Look like you?“ He asked again.

„Mixed,“ she barely answered. „The girl... you'll like her more“.

„Impossible,“ he said, and quickened. The mother should be punished for this sort of favoritism. „I love them both just the same.“

She smiled, almost all the reasoning completely absent in that violent haze, her breasts jostling in the rhythm of his hips. „You'll just find her more like yourself. Insightful... passionate... tender... brave... wise beyond her years. A precocious one, a historian, a poet.“

He nearly cried as the flickering images of the child she described came into his mind. Little one sitting in Rey's lap, both of them almost fighting who'll get more of Leia's attention and love.

Leia – he almost fell backwards to the ground.

„You already chose the names?“ He mumbled, slowing down but keeping the carnal bond intact. He was really eager to meet his firstborns and not to fail her.

„You'll see,“ she said and flung her hands around his neck. „She has the same sort of natural timidity. The same eyes. The same sort of strength.“

Indeed, his mother was just like that and it took time and effort to transform the trait into that attentive silence so useful for a successful leader. Shame she was so alone in her talents and ambition – her New Republic crumbling under pettiness and mediocrity of others.

„Just don't name the boy Han,“ he grumbled but soon realized he really didn't care. If the kid had the same type of swagger, it will be a challenge – one he'll gladly take onto himself.

„Perhaps,“ she said and frowned. Then she looked again at him and added, tauntingly. „Later.“

„Anakin,“ his breath was now nothing more than a light breeze. „Both deserved to meet on better terms in this life. And that child deserved a better home, and a better youth, and a better outcome“

He resumed his pace and she followed him back.

„We will provide everything,“ she moaned into his ear and then fell back with a deep sigh, her back arching as his hips hit hers time and time again.

They came undone at the same time, his growls matching her passionate screams. Have the guards heard them? Doesn't matter, anyway. They are working on important state business.

* * *

 

Now knowing with certainty he’ll be out of her bed for some time, he makes sure to use the uncharted regions the best he can. His hands unbury her breasts and his mouth latch covetously onto her hard nipples, since another pair of greedy mouth will occupy those beautiful islands soon enough.

She moans under his passionate and rough touch. Ultimately, she likes being conquered, but only by him.

He plants his seed again. Just to make sure. Like a good farmer. After all, he was responsible for the whole galaxy and all of its vibrating, unruly life that he grew to love so much.

 


	5. Ex Tenebris, Lux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sappiness and an end to this little smut-filled saga. Also, Kylo Ren singing to Roo Panes (I know, but I still love his "Lullaby Love" so much) and The Cinematic Orchestra (that one is truly beautiful, I couldn't pass an opportunity to make Ben Solo sing it as a lullaby).

Kira wakes up in the middle of the night to the humming voice that is at the same time new and pleasant and familiar. She’s been hearing that same voice for so long that it became like her other soul. She smiles into the warm darkness of their marital chamber. Stretching her arms and legs comfortably, her hand finds the place where he lied. It’s still warm. It still has his scent. He made sure not to wake her up, but the motivation behind his apparent sleeplessness is a shared one.

She smiles again into the crease his body has created on his side of the bed and rises up to her feet slowly. If she comes into the nursery too soon, he’ll just stop singing. He’s embarrassed by his own gentleness. He blames it on the sleep deprivation. It’s a pity, though – to her amazement, he has a lovely singing voice. In his younger years, he had a sort of poetic ambition, and it now shone through again. It never failed to delight her, the simplicity of his words, the emotion behind the rhymes, the melodies he came up with.

Securing a silk night-robe with a waistband, she tenses a bit and listens again – and beams.

This one is the old one: one he claims Leia likes the most (although Kira suspects he’s the one culpable of such preferences).

_'Cause when I'm seeing double,_  
It's your lullaby love that keeps me from trouble,  
It's your lullaby love that's keeping me level,  
It's your lullaby love that keeps me awake.

This is his ode of gratitude – hers is an old Jedi prayer each night before she goes to sleep - she did it since all of this has begun, ever since this so called new order began to emerge. Throughout her pregnancy, she made prayers longer and longer, although it annoyed him. But he let her have it. He’d let her have anything. “Just don’t wake up the children,” he grunts. “And don’t let someone overhear you.” _And if they did, what could they do against me?_ She thinks and flexes. _And I do this for my children – for our children._

When she was still Rey of Jakku, she admired with a hint of tender envy the matriarchal cultures of the desert tribes – she longed for that sort of belonging. In rare idle moments or during exceptionally repetitive handwork, her mind would wander from the dreariness of the everyday routine into pleasant daydreaming about a family she’d have… dreading she’ll probably never have one, dying, as many other scavengers do, before they reach their early twenties.

Only Force knows why she was blessed with this sort of happiness and this sort of love.

Perhaps, one day, she’ll find out. On Ahch-to perhaps.

But she’s patient – a virtue she developed as a scavenger, and scavenger she is still, regardless what anyone else thinks.

With that, she treads gently down the corridor and to the dimly lit nursery where her greatest treasure is.

* * *

And as they predicted, he loved them both just the same – only with Leia he shared a sort of an immediate recognition even when she was nothing more than a barely sentient bundle.

He'd wake in the middle of the night just seconds before she would – every time, impeccably. He could calibrate the Universal Galactic Time according to their awakenings.

He'd walk with the baby girl around, nestling her in his arms and rocking her gently back to sleep. He noticed the baby preferred slightly melancholy filled pieces to joyful ones, this sort of elementary vibration appealing at her underdeveloped nervous pathways more.

„Like her dad,“ he whispered to his wife. „Brooding little thing... and an apparent insomniac, as well.“

„Stop it,“ she whispered back, casting away the remnants of her sleep, stretching in a low and welcoming recliner, her feminine form showing through her silk nightgown to his immense delight. „She understands everything.“

He again highly doubted it – the little creature sucked peacefully on its thumb and it was its greatest achievement thus far: that, and training his insomnia and patience in new creative ways.

„You should publish a book of children's lullabies,“ she said to him, smiling playfully.

„Shut up,“ he grunts, piercing her with his dark gaze under the old scar.

„Use a pseudonym,“ she uttered and almost laughed. „I can help you illustrate it.“

„We'll ignore mom, is that right, sweetheart?“ He addressed the daughter, mock-ignoring the mother. „Yes, we will. Because mom is just silly. A silly Jedi. Because mom wants the whole galaxy to start having nightmares.“

Her expression darkened. „Oh, no,” she said, reaching out her arms to receive the little one. „Dad is the best father galaxy can only wish for.“

He appreciates her love so much (they're definitely going to make a lot of beautiful babies if she continues flattering him like this), but he won't give Leia back, not yet.

„Did you feed her?“

„Yes.“

„Did you burp her?“ She has to prove she has more proficiency in this than him, his noteworthy contribution notwithstanding.

„Of course I did, I'm not an idiot,“ he practically hisses back.

The baby wiggles in his arms and makes a small whimpering sound. They hold their breaths, listening tensely. But it's nothing – she just resumes her sleep.

He gives her the _„you're going to ruin all my hard work here“_ look, and so Kira backs off, smiling.

„Alright,“ she whispers and rises to her feet. „You two kids have a good night's sleep.“

She leans in, kissing her index finger and gently touching her baby's cheek. Then she plants a kiss on his lips and he holds her for a moment longer.

_You're going to wake her up_ , she whispers in his mind.

_I won’t_ , he answers. _The two of us have an agreement._

She sighs, peeling herself from him.

“Boys are simpler,” she smiles. “With you as the sole exception, Ben.”

Ani sleeps through the whole night, and is practically silent as long he is being fed well and on time, and left to worm around while he’s changed. From the outside, the little ones look exactly the same, but the light they emanate, although bright, sets them apart. Hers is radiant and nervous; his is somewhat dimmer, but constant.

“I’ll check on that troublemaker right now,” she says.

_Troublemaker? Why troublemaker?_ He raises his eyebrows, but she’s already gone, the ends of her night-gown swirling behind her in the shadows.

She’ll have to elaborate that later.

For now, he has this cute alien thing with a ridiculous tuft of silky dark hair on top of her head to take care of.

His mind wanders as he falls back to sleep again, with the words of a lullaby that came to him some time before.

_There is a house built out of stone_

_Wooden floors, walls and window sills_

_Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust_

_This is a place where I don't feel alone_

_This is a place where I feel at home._

He senses his baby daughter’s light shimmering and dancing, unthreatened by his own grays and blacks. His offspring is perhaps small now, but is already strong and resilient, just like their mother.

He smiles, fading into an unprecedentedly tranquil sleep.

Unbeknownst even to him, the ruler of the galaxy and the Master of the Knights of Ren, he’s describing, in a great detail, the ancient Jedi village of Ahch-to, the planet’s location remaining the last mystery between him and his wife.

He is destined to come home and now they’re merely standing in the doorway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Irin is one of the Knights of Ren, Luke Skywalker's treacherous former student, left behind by his Empire-affiliating parents when he was a toddler, barely surviving afterwards as a small-time criminal and delinquent in Cardota City.  
> I am not sure whether Canady survived the destruction of the "Fulminatrix", but for the sake of this story, he has. One of the most interesting marginal characters in my opinion - a very responsible commanding officer, only serving a misguided cause.


End file.
